The Sentinal

The Sentinel stands its lonely watch
Gazing toward the utmost west
Wherein the fleeing sun is swallowed into darkest night,
And terror puts our courage to the test.

That watcher stands as it has stood
For near three thousand years,
Feasting on the proffered stony bones of Mother Earth
And drinking deep the Ocean's tears.

But now the darkness of the night
Sends dreams of coming woe:
Dreams of fevered summers and oceans dead and dying
Dreams of ever-shrinking snow.

The great tree sounds a strong alarm
But few there be that now can hear
"It's just the wild west wind rushing madly through the trees,"
Said the ones who stood quite near.

Pools of fetid water stand stagnant
Amid the ruins of cities long forsaken
The Sentinel still stands, facing to the west but lost in dreams
From the sleep of death it will not waken.